


slight incongruity

by d__T



Category: Falling Skies, John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hookups, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Pre Canon, additional warnings/tags in ch notes as necessary, fucker grew a plot, one use of the f slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: John Pope picks up a stranger at the bar. John Wick wishes he would shut up.
Relationships: john wick/john pope
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a callout post @ myself for having two men with long hair named John on my roster. It got out of hand.
> 
> For those who don't know, John Pope has a cross tattooed on his chest but doesn't keep the faith.
> 
> John P is in his late 30s and John W is in his early 30s.

John’s cruising the bar. He’s gonna take someone home with him, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s doing this the old fashioned way too; he’s tired of dick pics, he wants to talk to somebody about nothing and everything at all and then suck them off. Get into some fucking trouble.

He’s not a complicated man. 

There’s a man sitting down at the other side of the narrow room who’s dressed a little too nicely and is clutching his drink like it’s about to wrong him. He’s also radiating an aura of loneliness that John can practically taste.

John watches him a little longer. He must be waiting for somebody, or trying to not wait for someone.

Well, he’ll be easy if nothing else.

John slides to his feet and saunters down to where the other man is sitting. He makes sure to put a little sway in his hips, just enough to entice anyone who’s already looking at him.

The stranger notices him well before he lets on that he does; dark eyes under a long fringe of straight dark hair. It’s a bit shorter than his own, they’ll be quite the pair if he pulls this off, and the stranger has a good body too from what he can see of it. More wiry practical strength than John’s muscles, but he doesn’t skimp on the cardio, he has the stamina to back it up.

He inserts himself into the man’s space, “Hey, someone stand you up?”

“What.” The strangers voice is rough like he doesn’t use it much.

“Let me stand you up.”

The stranger snorts. “Go away.”

“I’m John, what’s your name?”

The stranger blinks. “I’m also John.”

“Well, we can’t both be John, one of us will have to go home and change.”

The other John speaks slowly, like he’s still thinking about it. “Danny. You can call me Danny.”

There’s a slight accent to the way he says it, but John can’t place it. “That’s an unusual nickname for a Johnathan.”

Danny shrugs. “Before you get your hopes up I’m waiting for someone.”

John sits beside him, slinging one arm around his shoulders and gesturing with the drink in his other hand at the meander of people in the bar. “If they were gonna be here, they’d already be here. And you’ve been here for a while.”

“Been watching me, have you?”

“You got a nice body and a handsome face and I’d like to get better acquainted with you and your assets.”

“Well, that’s forward.”

John laughs. “If I’m not forward, I don’t get what I want.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Danny leans back in a stretch and John hears the faint pop of his back.

“You mind if I-” And without waiting for a reply, he slides one finger between the stressed shirt buttons over Danny’s chest.

Danny collapses out of the stretch as John pulls back from the touch, “Don’t touch me.” But he seems more amused than upset. “You’re right, if they were gonna be here, they’d already be here. Let’s go.”

“Who’s forward now? My place or yours?“ John’s a little thrown by the swing from don’t touch to take me home but he’s still game.

“Yours, for sure.”

“Hope you like motorcycles.” John smirks.

Danny grins back at him, “Love em.”

John’s got a Triumph Bonneville right now and the bitch seat is small. That’s not unintentional; it will press the other rider close to him and get them physical before their dicks come out.

“Oh, nice.” Danny comments when he sees the bike. “I usta have one of those.”

John passes him the spare helmet. “What happened?”

“I, ah, got hit by a truck.” His voice is wry through the muffling of the helmet.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry.” He pulls his helmet on and swings onto the saddle, holding the bike steady for Danny as he settles up against his back and if Danny is a little more handsy than he needs to be, who is he to mention it? Here’s the thing, he lets the bike warm a moment longer before getting them rolling, people who get hit by a truck don’t tend to walk away from the experience. If they don’t die, if they’re  _lucky_ , metal in their bones and a stiffness in their motions. And Danny moves perfectly; smoothly, no wasted motion, no accommodation for any lingering injury, more than a bit of hidden power. He can feel it in the legs bracketing his, in the way he shifts with John and the bike in corners.

John’s living in a trailer park these days; he’s doing well all things considering; parking the big rig behind his unit and the bike in the living room. He dumps his helmet and jacket on the beaten couch. Danny does the same but he stops at his jacket, half into the motion of shrugging it off. “Sorry, I can’t let you see me undress.”

John takes him in again, black suit, black tie, white shirt, the nicest shoes that have ever been in that bar by John’s estimation, and while his estimation isn’t very good he is right. He’s scored well above his grade.

“What are you, Secret Service out slumming it?” He asks. “I didn’t think they let fags be spooks.”

“They don’t.” Danny says dryly. “The Secret Service wishes they were this good.”

“Yeah, okay. Forget I asked.”

“I can get undressed in your bathroom.” Danny offers.

“You’re welcome to try.” Trailer living isn’t exactly luxurious. It sometimes feels like he has almost as much space in the sleeper of his truck.

Danny looks into the bathroom and then continues right on into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

John looks around at his living room, the chaos of last week’s clothing on the floor and couch and the array of parts around the bike stand and wonders what the hell he’s in for. There’s some things about the man that just don’t quite add up.

His door clicks open. Danny must have gotten half dressed again; white shirt half unbuttoned, tie gone, belt left unbuckled. John needs a drink because he is fucking thirsty. “Oi, you coming?”

“You better believe.” John strides towards him, planning on pushing him back onto his bed, but Danny somehow catches him. Danny commands him, “Get undressed.”

John bullies him back into the small bedroom, the stub hallway isn’t big enough for the both of them. When he’s got the space, he pulls his shirt off and drops it, shaking his hair back into place. He catches Danny’s blink at his tattoos, but he’s used to that by now. He slides his hands into Danny’s shirt and over his chest. He’s well muscled- and he feels an impression stretched around his ribs that’s probably _not_ from a heart rate monitor band, and a really gnarly scar. He rubs his thumb along the scar. “You’re a fucking spook.”

“If that’s what you want to believe, then I’m a fucking spook.” Danny agrees.

“Who’s fucking who?”

“Well, I was gonna trade blowjobs but you got this whole fancy man thing going on that just makes me want to hold you down while I fuck you.”

“Hey, it’s for  _work_ .” Danny objects.

“And you’re not a spook, yeah.” John pushes him back down onto his mess of a bed, following him down to straddle his hips. He finishes unbuttoning Danny’s shirt and smooths his hands over his belly. “Wouldn’t have come with me if you didn’t want a little trade.”

Danny sort of stares at him for a moment.

John sits back. “Do you know what the fuck you’re doing?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna fuck me.” Danny says it like a challenge.

John steps back to the floor so that he can pull Danny’s trousers and underwear off. He drops them on the floor and finishes stripping himself. When he looks back up at him, Danny’s peeking at him through his fingers. He asks archly, “Did you want me to fold them, or something?”

“You’re not trade, you’re a  _mess_ .”

“Yeah.” John doesn’t disagree, kneeling down over him and sucking Danny’s cock into his mouth. Clean skin, a bit of sweat, precum, Danny moaning. One of the better cocks he’s had in his mouth.

He works him over until Danny’s slightly rocking into his mouth. When he looks up, Danny’s got his wrist locked between his teeth, muffling himself.

John pulls off with a deliberately wet pop. “Aw, don’t do that. I wanna hear you, fancy man.”

Danny already looks fucked out, chest heaving, lips and wrist wet. “Are you gonna quit if I get you off before I fuck you?”

Danny shakes his head.

“Oh good.” John dips back down and holding Danny’s hips with one hand, he jerks him off into his mouth with the other. It doesn’t take long and Danny comes with a bit back grunt. And he comes for a while, twitching again every time he moves to pull off.

He crawls up, sticks his thumb between Danny’s lips to keep them open, and spits it all into his mouth. “Been a while, huh?”

Danny swallows it, shaking his head with eyes still squeezed shut.

“So you’re just like that. Nice, you can come around  _any_ time. Roll over.”

John doesn’t wait for him to do it himself, he twists Danny over. Danny wriggles out of his shirt and that’s when John sees the back tattoo for the first time.

John sounds out the Latin, passably rusty from church in his youth, and rapidly revises his opinion. “Latin. You in a fucking cult?”

“Shut up and fuck me.” Danny grunts.

John leans across him to grab the lube and a condom off of his bedside table. It presses him chest to back, nearly full body contact and he makes sure that Danny can feel his erection as he does so. Danny squirms a little under him before he settles back into his previous position. From there he grabs Danny’s ass, gripping and massaging it for a little while before slicking two fingers and rubbing at Danny’s hole.

And then he has a brilliant idea and dumps a bunch of lube down his crack, and pressing his cock between his cheeks with his fingers, ruts him like that.

“Really?” Danny gripes. He’s still just slightly wavery with his arousal, so John pays the complain no mind.

John repeats the Latin at him. “Shut up, cult boy.”

“Your accent is terrible.”

“It’s been a minute.” He admits.

“Your tattoos lasted.” John is gratified to hear him a little breathless even as he’s annoyed by his observation.

“Yeah, well, I met god and wasn’t much impressed.” John pauses to roll the condom on and slick it up better before pushing into Danny. “Oh, fuck, that’s good, that’s really good.”

Danny doesn’t reply, panting as John slowly draws out and slides back in again. “Fuck, come up here.”

He pulls Danny’s ass up, moving them together and the position opens him up a bit more and he can move easily now. He sets a quick pace, chasing his own pleasure now and the only coherent sound that Danny is making is an intermittently gasped  _fuck_ .

Danny eventually reaches under himself to jerk his cock and John slows down, letting them both breath for a bit, to last longer, to push Danny’s shoulders down and pin him like he said.

“You’re an international spy and assassin.” John guesses.

“3 out of 2. Would you  _please_ shut up?” Danny pushes back on him, making him groan.

He resettles his grip and continues fucking him. “Fuck, I’m close, I wanna-”

John pulls out and quickly rolls the condom off before rolling Danny onto his back again, and jerks their cocks together. Danny comes first, shooting up over his belly and onto his chest, and then John follows him.

John kneels there panting, their legs hooked together. Then he drags a finger through the cum on Danny’s chest, scooping it up and sticking it in the other man’s mouth. Danny licks his finger clean for him.

“Fuck, you got me, I’m an international assassin.”

“No, really?” John asks sarcastically.

“No, of course not.” Danny starts untangling himself from John. “You gonna give me a ride back into town or do I gotta call a taxi?”

“You ain’t getting a taxi out here.” John helps Danny stretch his legs out. “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride back to town but if you ain’t pressed for time, you can stay the night.”

Danny considers it. “What the hell, I’ll stay. Can you manage to not touch my stuff?”

“Can you manage to not kill me in my sleep, spook?”

“Only if you don’t touch my stuff.”

“Fair enough.”


	2. Some Time Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Wick pays John Pope a visit. One emotional crisis and a blowjob later:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> john p: I will behave normally until danny also behaves normally  
> john w: I don’t know what’s going on
> 
> Suz is pronounced 'sooz'

There's a motorcycle parked at one end of his trailer. It's not his motorcycle and it's some kind of big super-sport that probably costs more than his whole damn trailer. It's also the kind of bike that would get jacked the second the owner looks away around here.

There's a reason he parks  _his_ motorcycle in his living room.

He pulls the truck into its parking spot beside the trailer and shuts it down. The Pete isn't exactly a quiet machine so he's lost any element of surprise that he might have had, and also the opportunity to get all of his shit out of the sleeper and into his home in one trip.

He pulls the trailer key off of the ring and keeps it in one hand, pocket knife in the other and the rest of the keys in his pocket. He heads around to the front door of the trailer, something that he rarely does, and lets himself in.

The dim light isn't doing him any favors, but he can clearly see a man sitting on his ratty couch, one hand gently resting on a pistol that's still left laying on the cushion.

He recognizes this man.

"Motherfucker, when I said you could come around any time, I didn't mean break into my house."

"Well, what did you mean?" Danny's voice is still rough in that raspy way of disuse.

"I meant call me first."

"You didn't give me your number."

"Didn't give you my address either, spook, but here you are." John groans, "Look dude, I just spent fifteen hours on the road. I'm taking a shower and passing the hell out. You ain't getting fuck out of me until after I've hit the diner sometime tomorrow."

Danny tilts his head, "May I-?"

"Yeah, but don't mention it."

John locks the door and drops his keys on the counter where they belong. "Bring your bike in, someone's gonna steal it."

"Oh-, yeah, I'll do that."

It takes a few minutes for the water heater to remember its job, and then he leans against the plastic wall of the shower and lets the hot water run down his back. It's not that he isn't flattered that Danny came back- he's jerked off more than a few times thinking about him- it's the whole breaking into his home thing. Not fucking cool.

And the pistol, jesus fuck that man isn't subtle.

No use thinking about it now; he scrubs himself down, washes a week on the road out of his hair, steps out and dries himself off. He leaves his dirty clothes on the floor, not even god could make him be a courteous host right now, and heads for his bedroom with the damp towel wrapped around his hips.

He pulls on boxer briefs because they make his dick look good, sweatpants because he knows what he's about  _and_ they make his dick look good, and no shirt because he knows who he'll be whenever he wakes up.

Dressed, he leans in the doorway and watches Danny for a moment. Danny is fiddling with his own bike in the living room now. "Oi, spook, leave your gear out there and come to bed."

He doesn't wait for Danny; he goes straight to his bed and crawls in, raining blessings on his past self who had done the laundry and made the bed before leaving for the job.

Danny joins him just before he passes out, and then he's out.

John wakes up wrapped around someone.

Ah. Danny.

Danny is already awake. John chooses not to acknowledge this, instead prying himself out of bed and going to take a piss.

When he returns, Danny is sitting up. John leans in the doorway, looking at him. “The hell are you doing here?”

If Danny had  _anywhere_ else to be, he’d be there instead. John’s not a good catch and he knows it and Danny dresses too nicely to  _not_ be slumming it.

Danny shrugs. “You don’t want anything from me.”

“I saw your gun, last night. I know you have more. Are you using me as a safe house?”

Danny shakes his head, absently rubbing at the cross on his shoulder.

“Hm.” John digs a shirt out of his dresser and pulls it on. “I know you’re not a fed ‘cause the only government that comes around here is in blue. So don’t be bringing whatever bullshit you’re into with you, ‘cause bullets go through these walls like paper.”

Danny nods. “Nobody’s following me.”

“That bike yours?  _Legally?_ "

Danny shakes his head, wry look on his face.

“I ain’t on probation for vehicular theft anymore but they’ll take any chance to pop my ass back in jail, you understand? I don’t want to see it again.”

Danny nods.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“You got any normal clothing?”

Danny shakes his head.

John looks at him critically. “My shirts will probably fit you. Don’t pick anything too nice.”

“They’re gonna think you’re fucking me.”

“I am, aren’t I?” John trades his sweatpants for jeans.

Danny huffs.

Turns out John’s shirts kinda fit Danny but his jeans don’t, so Danny ends up in an old band shirt and his slacks with John’s spare jacket over his arm.

“You can ride with me, or go by yourself.”

“Gimme a moment.”

John jockeys his bike outside as Danny does something that looks an awful lot like typing the VIN off of the stolen bike into his phone. John isn’t gonna question it. The less he knows the better.

He kinda  _wants_ to ride the supersport but he doesn’t ride bitch and it’s probably got twice the power of his Bonnie and he doesn’t know how to handle that before breakfast. Also it’s neon green and stolen.

And, anyway, having Danny clinging to his back again is nice.

“Hey John, how was the drive?” Suz greets him at the counter of the diner, already picking up menus to lead them to a booth.  


“Hey Suz. Not bad, you know, 15 hours one way.”

Suz grimaces in sympathy. “The usual? Who’s this?”

John nods. “Suz, spook. Spook, Suz.”

Suz laughs. Danny sticks out his hand. She shakes it all formal like. “Pleased to meet you, spook. You need a minute with the menu?”

Danny nods.

“Sure thing!”

“ _Spook_ ?” Danny hisses as soon as Suz is out of earshot.

“What, are nicknames only for the bedroom?”

Danny grunts, a non answer. John leaves him alone to look at the menu.

Suz swans back with their drinks and takes Danny's order, leaving them at an impasse. John doesn't usually see his one night stands again, nor take them to breakfast. Fuck, is this a date?

Danny ignores his internal turmoil, instead excusing himself as he pulls out his phone without leaving the table. He dials a number from memory and immediately gets put on hold.

John rolls his eyes but Danny doesn't notice because there's a voice speaking now. John's hearing isn't what it used to be, but Danny's must be worse than he's been letting on because he has the call volume all the way up. At this distance, John can tell that it's a female voice and nothing more.

Danny takes the phone away from his ear to read the copied down VIN into it, nods when he puts it back to his ear before correcting himself to speak. Then he hangs up. "The bike won't cause you any problems now."

"Now  _that's_ spooky." John declares. It’s not possible to register a vehicle over the phone- and he would know. Suz arrives with his food just then, and that’s the only thing that matters from there on out; fuck whatever weird shit Danny’s into.

John gets back into sweatpants as soon as the possibly can- and goes back to being shirtless because he likes the way Danny looks at him.

“This isn’t what I expected.” Danny says quietly from the nub hallway.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave.” John offers, hoping that won’t.

Danny comes over and steps up onto the couch by way of the arm and then down to the cushion before folding himself down to sit. “Is this… netflix and chill?”

“Could be. You watch anything?”

Danny shrugs one shoulder.

“What do you do when you’re not being a spook?”

“Sleep, mostly.”

“Hm.” John wakes his aging Xbox up and puts The Walking Dead on, starting where he’d left off last week.

They get about five minutes in, with Danny perched cautiously on the far end of the couch before Danny grunts, “No.”

John pauses it. “You okay, man?”

“Put something else on.”

They hop through a couple of genres before ending up on a baking show, and whatever, it’s not something that he would have picked for himself but it’s gotten Danny to untense, slowly and cautiously. He’s now lying across the couch with his head in John’s lap and one leg over the arm of the couch and the other crunched up between his body and the arm. John plays with his hair, idly combing it into chunks and smoothing it out again. Fuck him but he’d missed this. What the hell.

Danny rolls over, facing into him instead. John resettles his hand around the back of Danny’s head. He has really nice hair, huh.

Danny presses his face against John’s groin, more pressing him with his nose than kissing at him. John tightens his grip slightly, stilling him. “Hey-?”

Danny shakes his head so John releases him. Danny goes back to whatever he was doing, breath hot against him. John is half watching him now, half lost in thought as his hand idles on Danny’s side.

The shirt Danny had picked is a band shirt for someone he hadn’t listened to in ten years and lot has happened in those 10 years. Married, divorced, jail time on two separate occasions. No idea how he ended up here on his own with a hot man in his lap working his way up to putting his mouth on John’s bulge.

He wonders what that band would sound like now. Eh. Danny’s moving so John moves with him, sliding down a little to give him space.

Danny wraps his lips around the shape of John’s dick, and then seems surprised when it gets stiff. It’s one of the cutest things John has ever seen.

Danny takes his time, methodically following the new length of it through the fabric to the tip and well before the time he gets there, John is fully hard.

“Fuck,” he pants.

Danny glances up at him. John turns his head back to his dick. “I didn’t say stop.”

Danny smirks, and he is such a fucking tease. So methodical, so careful, John is aching for more.

At long last Danny tugs at the band of his sweatpants and John helps him, getting them down far enough to get his dick out. It bobs up over his belly. Danny looks at it, looks up at him, and then starts just as carefully as before from the tip. John so very much wants to thrust through his fingers and into his mouth and he knows that Danny will hold him down if he does that.

So he does that. And Danny does, pinning him diagonally across hip and thigh like it’s nothing. Fuck.

It gives him something to push against, usually he’s more active than this but Danny has frankly been terrible at saying what he wants so if this is what he wants? John is  _happy_ to provide.

He’s not expecting it when he comes, maybe neither of them are, and Danny swallows him down easily. Danny gives him one last suck before letting him slide out of his mouth, but coming like that, his dick is going half hard over his hip and they’re at the point where someone will have to say something when Danny’s phone buzzes.

John swears and Danny flinches right out from under his hands.

Danny leans over and grabs it, opening a text even though he’s still half in John’s lap. John looks at the proximity of his dick to Danny’s face and contemplates rubbing it on him just to be rude.

Danny taps out a message before saying, “I have to go now.”

“Y’sure? Cause I don’t think we’re done here.”

Danny smoothly rolls to his feet. “I don’t have a choice.”

John looks him up and down, appreciating that he can see the stiffness of Danny’s dick through his slacks. The urge to ruin him is back. “I could help you with that.”

Danny pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the couch, returning it to John. “No.”

“Your loss.” John shrugs.

Danny gets dressed and this time John sees his weapons. Two pistols under his arms, the way he smoothly counts his ammunition back into magazines, the jacket hiding everything perfectly. He’s gonna be thinking about that harness later, isn’t he.

John puts his dick away and stands. “Be seeing you, then.”

“Maybe.” Danny allows, and together they escort Danny’s bike outside.

John watches him go.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Danny talk about it.

John is out on his motorcycle, just dicking around in the twilight. Getting some space. His neighbors have had the bass up all day and he’s irritable and spiteful about it. So he’s out getting some air at about 70mph and there shouldn’t be anyone out here, but there’s been a big bitch of a Camaro following him for like twenty minutes. He can’t shake it and on top of all that he’s pissed off now too.

Up ahead there’s a road curve warning sign; he knows that he can take that curve faster than the Camaro can. He stays on the throttle and comes out of the curve heading for 100.

He looks back and the Camaro is gaining on him again. Fucking hell. He’s gonna have to find a town and shake this guy, there’s too much goddamn space out here.

He thinks out a route and just about puts his knee to the pavement on the next corner; he’s pushing himself and his Bonnie harder than he really should, but he’s spooked and wants every inch of lead that he can get on this bastard.

There’s a gas station with an attached garage in the town, he’s been there before. It’s got a yard of cars beside it and shit fuck terrible sightlines. He’ll go there, and go back the way he came once he’s lost this fucker.

Except it doesn’t work. He’s tucked himself into the shadows between two shabby panel vans, weeds damn near at his knees and just barely enough space for the Bonnie’s handlebars when the Camaro idles into the lot like a bad dream.

The acre of rattlecan black hood noses by and stops just so the driver can see him. There’s motion inside the car; the window cranking down. If he’s about to get shot, there’s not a goddamn thing he can do about it. So he sits and waits, the Bonnie trembling slightly between his knees.

The driver, leaning out, long dark hair, “Oi!”

He squints in the half baked sodium orange light. Is that Danny. He shouts back, “What the fuck, man!”

“John!”

John carefully idles the bike forward, getting close enough to see. And it is Danny, hair longer now. “What the **hell** , Danny.”

“I gotta- talk to you.”

John flips his visor up so that he can hear better- he’s not shutting his bike down, and the Camaro is idling like a tin can full of gravel, fucker sounds like it’s on straight pipes. “You coulda fucking called me like a normal fucking person!”

Danny grimaces, sliding back down into the driver’s seat. There’s the click of the transmission going into gear and then the Camaro is sliding away- to one of the pumps in the gas station proper. Danny shuts the car off, pays the pump, cocking the handle so it’ll fill without him holding it.

Danny leans against the side of the car, waiting. He’s not in a suit this time, just T-shirt and jeans. The suit almost reduces him, his build is much more apparent now.

John’s good in a brawl and he’s absolutely certain that he wouldn’t land a hit on him. He cautiously idles out a little further, keeping the bike ready in case he has to run.

In the relative quiet, Danny remarks, “Just about ran me dry out there.”

John sits back, crossing his arms. “70 miles to the gallon is pretty damn compelling.”

Danny laughs brittley.

“The  _hell_ do you want to talk to me about?” They don’t know each other. They’ve sucked each other’s dicks but they don’t know each other.

“I gotta ask you something.”

“Spit it out, I ain’t feeling charitable after that stunt.”

Danny sighs, hesitates. Finishes the gas buying transaction in awkward silence.

“What happened with your wife?”

“That’s  _none_ of your damn business.” John snaps.

Danny looks down at the shitty stained concrete for a while. “If everyone said you were the best at something but you hated it, would you leave it all for something you loved- even if that something might be unattainable? Might be destroyed because you went near it?”

Danny’s wearing flip flops.

John stares at him for a while. Shuts the Bonnie down and pulls off his helmet. “Laura found out that I wanted to fuck men three weeks before I killed a man for messing with our son. She told me to have a good time in jail.”

Danny looks at him blankly. “What.”

John scrubs his hands back through his hair. “ _What._ "

He’d given Danny an answer, a goddamn tidbit. Danny is supposed to give back. “The fuck is your problem, dude.”

“I-” Danny looks- like an animal, confused. Desperate. Like a mouse trapped in a bucket of water. “Look, can you get in the car? It’s the only place I know that I can talk safely.”

John stays firmly on his bike. “What’s wrong with right here?”

Danny looks at him, direct and intense. “You used to call me spook. So, it’s spook shit. Please get in the car.”

“You were hunting me for sport, back there. Don’t think you’re the first one to do that to me. Why should I trust you now?”

Danny gives him that blank look again. “If I was hunting you, you would be dead.”

“Jesus  _fucking_ Christ, Danny.”

Danny says, really quietly, so quietly that John isn’t sure that he heard right, “I think I’m in love and I don’t have anyone that I can tell.”

What the  _hell._ John stamps the kickstand down and leaves his helmet on the handlebar before coming around in front of Danny.

Danny is still, like he’s not crying, Danny’s a little taller, John has to look up even in his motorcycle boots, Danny has to look down. He’s too close, Danny’s breath on him when he speaks. “You have pictures of them on your fridge. You’re normal.”

“Let me hide the bike.”

Danny nods once, abruptly.

John walks the bike back in between the panel vans and wheel locks it before returning the Camaro. He takes one look at how low it is and takes his jacket off too before slinging himself down into the passenger seat. “Let’s fucking go.”

The Camaro coughs unhappily when Danny turns the key before it catches with a rumble. Danny babies it until the idle settles before pulling out and it’s another 10 minutes before he speaks again. “You’re so normal.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“When you were guessing at what I do.”

“International spy and assassin.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“But you are an assassin.” John feels his grasp on reality slipping away from him.

“Yeah.” Danny says flatly.

They’re silent again for a while. The radio crackles fitfully, barely picking up the hard rock station at such a low volume. He wonders if Danny picked that, or if it was tuned to that when he bought this heap and just never changed it. Eventually he asks, “What’s that like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been anything else.”

“You were a kid once.”

“They put that tattoo on me when I was fourteen. I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet; they fixed it at 20.”

“How old are you?”

“Dunno. 30 or 32.” Danny says. John feels his 38 like a sack of bricks on his shoulders. “I don’t have a birth certificate. I don’t- exist. They made sure of that.”

“And you’re in love.”

“Yeah.” There’s a long pause. “She’s like you. Normal.”

“Normal.” John repeats. “What do you want from me?”

“I-” Danny swings them around a curve and John can feel the whole body of the car struggling to stay on the road. “What’s it like, being in love?”

John stares out the window for a long time.

“I’d do it all over again. Every bit of it, just to see her happy again.” He finally says. “All of it. Anything.”

“You killed a man.”

“It was an accident.”

Danny huffs. “Do you miss her?”

“Are you stupid?” John asks rudely, rhetorically. Pauses. “Whatever it is that you do, you have to tell her.”

“I’ve killed. I don’t know. More people than I want to count. Blood money bought my house and this car and everything I own. Leaving will put a couple million dollars of bounty on my head and a target on her back.” Danny shakes his head. “I can’t do that do her.”

“I’m normal, what makes you think that I can help you with  _any_ of that?”

“I’m not a weapon to you.” Danny shrugs. “You treat me like a person.”

“Jesus.”

“You don’t- didn’t- know what I am or what I’ve done. You don’t-.” Danny pauses for a while. “With you, I could just be. Simple.”

John doesn’t know what to say to that so they ride in silence again for a long time, thinking their own thoughts. The moon is harshly bright, a stark kind of beauty. There’s no clock in this old car, at least not one that works and John isn’t gonna get his phone out. But he can feel it in his body: time passing. Weightless, ephemeral, like the moon.

He says, “Y’gotta take me back.”

Danny says a wrong amount of time later, “Can I stay with you?”

“What?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“What’s your girl gonna think about that?”

“Don’t think this is gonna be the thing she’ll have a problem with.”

John makes a noncommittal sound. “You can stay.”

“Thank you.”

So damn polite.

He wakes up with Danny wrapped around him. Danny’s dick is hard against his butt. He groans and wriggles a bit, and Danny unconsciously holds him before straggling into wakefulness too. John rolls over to face Danny and Danny lays on him instead, pressing his dick to his thigh and his face to John’s shoulder and John holds him like that. This is the stupid hot shit that he misses too much sometimes, the horny coming online before the inhibitions do.

He’s about to offer to suck Danny off when Danny mumbles, “I want to fuck you.”

John drags his hands down Danny’s sides, shoulder ribs hips, squeezing his butt through his shorts and Danny moans softly.

“I  _want_ to.”

“Gimme a minute to make sure I’m ready, yeah?”

“Okay.” Danny complains, but rolls off of him anyway.

“Condoms and lube are in the table thingy, pick out whatever you want.”

“I know.” Danny says lazily.

“Fucking spook.” John laughs, and when he comes back, Danny is sitting up a little, stroking himself lazily.

“She’s a lucky girl, whoever she is.”

Danny ignores his comment. “Come here.”

So he does, straddling Danny’s lap, letting his erection push up under him. They kiss for a while but Danny is the one leading now and John is curious to let him.

Danny plays with his nipples, John sucks kisses into his throat, Danny fingers him lightly and he asks for more. Danny gives him that until he’s stupid with it and  _then_ Danny rolls a condom on and slides into him and John is swearing uselessly as they rock together.

And if this is his performance on a sleepy morning, fuck she’s lucky because John is gonna be thinking about this and getting hot over it for like the next week at least.

“Put me on my back-”

It takes some rearranging to get them lined up again, hips up on a pillow and Danny holding his legs up to bend him a little and Danny just swinging into him. John doesn’t bottom much, and comes from being fucked even less, but Danny is getting him just right and so smoothly that he falls apart all over himself. Danny’s grinning and John doesn’t even feel bad for coming so quickly but Danny never stopped and he’s building up to overstimulation, ready so ready, he’s going to black out when he comes but he can’t come again this quickly.

Danny freezes, pressing him hard and he can feel him twitching and his brain fills in the rest and a few desperate strokes of his cock later he comes again, bucking and trying to turn it into a twist so that Danny stays in him. Fuck he needs that right now.

He ends up on his side, not sure how, Danny slowly slipping out of him and he’s thinking he might use one of his plugs that he never uses just to keep that feeling inside himself. “I- needed that.”

Danny smiles at him, weirdly soft.

And John watches Danny slowly put himself back together, feeling wet and loose and like he’s gonna have to do laundry and it’s okay.

For the end of something, this is a good way to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets an invitation to a wedding. It's weird.

_Be seeing you, then._

_maybe._

John doesn’t forget Danny, not exactly. Weeks turn to months, months turn to- well, he moves a couple of times, keeps trucking and picks up a part time gig at a speed shop. Has a couple of flings, and one thing that lasts long enough to be a heartbreaker. Life moves on, and John goes with it. Simple as that.

So it comes as something of a surprise when he receives a wedding invitation in the mail; he doesn’t know anyone who’s getting married. Everyone either already is, or has tried it and given up. Being in the latter group himself, he turns the invitation over in his hands before slitting it open with his pocket knife.

It’s a simple card- two actually, one is an R.S.V.P. postcard- medium fancy, tasteful. It gives two names that he doesn’t recognize, date, time, place. All the usual information summed up by two signatures, printed in the same ink as the rest of the card. And then, below that, a handwritten signature.

_Danny_ .

Who-oh.  _Danny_ . It’s been a long ass time since John had even last thought about Danny, or how weird their last encounter was. He reads the invitation again, rolling the names over in his mouth. John and Helen. Helen and John. Wick. He hadn’t ever known Danny’s last name, had he.

The event is two months out, further out than his jobs get scheduled, and it’s on the east coast. Fuck them for making him go to New Jersey.

The wedding is a small and casual affair. It’s on the lawn of a cute bed and breakfast, very chic countryside. The place is beautiful, loaded with springtime flowers and perfect landscaping and the kind of converted farmhouse that’s picturesque in the winter and shadily refreshing in the summer. It’s a fairy tale kind of place.

John arrived late the day before- he still doesn’t own a car and crossing four state lines on a motorcycle in two days has put a mighty ache in his bones. There’s a small cluster of cars parked to one side of the house in a gravel lot that’s only slightly larger than the cluster. It’s mostly modern cars, the kind of responsible cars that people with their shit together drive, but there’s also a deep purple fleck Charger and ratty powder blue pickup with an empty rifle rack in the back window that can’t be any newer than 1970. He leaves his Bonnie beside the pickup and heads on up to the house, helmet tucked under his arm.

The house has a wrap-around porch. A little ways down on both sides of the front door are groupings of deck chairs. One on side, there’s a big burly woman with short dark hair and a thirdhand army jacket. She’s smoking. Beside her, with his feet up on the arm of her chair, is a slender Asian man with long hair. Incongruous with the rest of his outfit, he’s wearing cowboy boots with blue detailing. The woman lifts her hand is greeting, he does the same. On the other is a group of what must be family. Helen’s family ‘cause they sure as hell don’t look like Danny.

Inside, he gets his keys and his room and drops his saddlebag/backpack at the foot of the bed and water-combs his hair to get the helmet markings out of it and changes his shirt because again, crossed two state lines today alone and that’s the bare minimum to make him fit for company. 

John picks up lemonade from the first floor common area before heading out to the porch. To his left, family. To his right: strangers. He picks the strangers because he can  _feel_ the class difference between himself and the family whereas thirdhand army coat is usually his kinda people.

The man acknowledges him first with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Hey.” John picks a seat and sits with a groan. “That pickup yours?”

“Yeah,” the man says. “Cute Bonneville.”

“Thanks,” John smiles. “I’m John.”

The woman quirks an eyebrow at him. The man says, “I’m Indigo, and that’s Renholder. Say, what name did you know him by?”

“Danny.” John offers.

“Really.” Renholder says. She’s got a rough voice. Indigo picks up on the other side. “I knew him as Johnny. We got a theory that nobody here knows him by the same name.”

“Huh.” John doesn’t have anything to add to that. He watches the sun set for a while before a thought surfaces. “Wait, did he hook up with you? _Both_ of you?”

“Just me.” Indigo says easily. “Ren’s my partner.”

John narrows his eyes at them, trying to figure that one out. He’d absolutely read Renholder as a lesbian but it’s none of his damn business. Indigo’s grinning at him, clearly entertained by discomfiting him with that information. “How’d you meet him?”

Indigo glances at Renholder before giving John a critical look. “Business. We’re accountants.”

“Bullshit.” John drawls. “I saw the heat he carried.”

“What do you do?”

“What?”

“What’s your damn job, John.”

“Oh, I’m a trucker.”

Indigo snorts. “ _Johnny_ and I were in the same business. And if anyone asks, we’re accountants.”

“Y’all mob, or something?”

“You fucking wish.” Indigo laughs.

“Why won’t any of you tell me who the hell you work for?” John complains.

“We’re contractors.” Indigo shrugs. Renholder’s smile is a threat. “It’s really, truly, genuinely better that you don’t know.”

“Kay.” John says. “Well-” He lifts his empty glass before standing, “See y’all tomorrow.”

“Accounting,” Indigo points at him. “See ya.”

Tomorrow comes sooner than he expected because he sees Indigo in the hallway on his way back to his room from the bathroom. In a house this old, all of the rooms on the third floor share a bathroom. This isn’t unusual and doesn’t bother him, but he’s marginally dressed and still damp from his shower and Indigo is clearly heading to take his shower, and is shirtless and without a belt his jeans are riding low on his hips and there’s a crosshatch scar just above his right hip that looks like a fascinating texture and John wants to put his hand _right there_ and he yanks his eyes back up to Indigo’s face. “Evenin’.”

“Like what you see?” Indigo says, hidden laughter in his voice.

“Uh,  _yeah_ .” John says. Hooking up with someone at a wedding might be a new low for him. Or a new high, he’s not sure.

Indigo’s posture has shifted slightly. He’s showing off now, knowing that he’s got John looking. “Gonna do something about it?”

“Renholder scares the fuck outta me.” He says honestly.

Indigo laughs, tucks some of his hair behind his ear in a deliberately-cute gesture. “She knows what I do.”

“Well, uh, good for her.”

“Are you gonna invite me back to your room, or are we gonna keep talking circles while I freeze my tits off?”

“What are you, a vampire?”

“Yes, now let’s go.”

“What the fuck is with you people?” John asks rhetorically as he brushes by Indigo to get to his room, assuming that Indigo will follow him if he’s serious.

Indigo does follow him, and pushes by him into his room to drop his stuff on the bed and lean against the edge of it as John sets his shower stuff down a bit more properly on the little table. John looks at him and gets the feeling that the pretty-boy look he’s got going on is a cultivated impression, something that that Indigo wants people to see but isn’t quite real. Might be the other scar arcing diagonally across his chest in an ugly pale ridge. Might be that the coy act he had in the hall is gone now.

John moves to him and Indigo reaches up to pull him into a kiss. John shifts, dumping Indigo onto his back, kneeling to hook Indigo’s legs up around his hips. Indigo shifts too, both hands into John’s hair, pulling him where Indigo wants him. Hell, his hair is gonna dry stupid if Indigo keeps messing with it like that.

It’s a rough, messy kiss, more teeth and John’s stubble than it really needs before Indigo pulls his head to kiss under his jaw and along his throat. He pushes Indigo’s head back, thumb under his jaw as Indigo pulls him along.

John normally likes a little less guidance and a little more freedom to explore on his own, but Indigo is making the most delicious sounds as he is moved down Indigo’s body, hands trailing in the path of his mouth. He’s highkey hoping the neighbors aren’t gonna get shitty about this, he doesn’t want to stop to get yelled at.

The patch of scars feels as neat as he’d hoped it would under his thumb but he genuinely can’t tell if Indigo can even feel anything more than the weight of his hand there or if he’s just choosing not to react, or what. It’s a little weird and then Indigo’s moving his head to the bar of his dick, having him mouth along the heat of it through his jeans until his lips feel a little roughed up and he has to get Indigo’s jeans down, which is the only thing Indigo has let him do without adjusting him in some way.

Okay, it’s a little hot to be controlled so thoroughly by a guy two-thirds his size.

Indigo’s dick springs up and bops him on the nose and it’s silly enough for them both to laugh before John goes down on him. 

He takes his time, starting with the thick p.a. ring through the tip and now Indigo is more hanging onto him than controlling him but his hands are still tight in John’s hair. John can feel the ring, hard on his tongue and the back of his mouth and he’s wondering what it would be like to be fucked with that as Indigo tries to thrust into his mouth.

John lets him, only holding him enough to keep it from being difficult before- he pulls Indigo so his ass is resting high on John’s thighs, he knows that Indigo can feel his erection under him. Indigo whines, swears, demands, “Come up here.”

“Gonna let me fuck you?”

“Nope!”

Indigo snugs himself against John, and John groans deeply. “Don’t fucking mess with me.”

Which was absolutely the right thing to say because Indigo wriggles again. John pulls at his jeans, getting them the rest of the way off. Indigo reaches up at him, “Come _here_.”

John does this time, folding Indigo a little to make it happen and now he can stroke their cocks together and he needs it so fucking bad as Indigo grabs him by the face, thumb in his mouth, panting together. 

“I’m gonna-” Indigo gasps, one hand on his own chest, and John grins, but he doesn’t, but John  _does_ and Indigo chirps in surprise and John doesn’t release himself, just keeps jerking them together and Indigo comes just before he can’t take it anymore.

Indigo slides down out of his lap and John rolls onto his back beside him and they lay there panting and laughing a little.

“Fuck.”

John looks over at him. “You’re hot like that.”

Indigo responds lazily. “I’ve heard.”

John pats his hip. “Cute.”

Indigo wriggles a little before sitting up and wiping himself off. “Well. That was fun.”

John watches him put himself together enough to make it to the shower without a scandal in the hallway. “See you tomorrow, then, for real this time.”

Indigo hits him with a smirk just before he lets himself out into the hall.

John flops one arm back across his face. Well, this sure isn’t what he expected.

He drags himself out of bed just in time for last breakfast call and everyone seems surprised when he takes over the cooking so that the house-staff can go take care of wedding things. It’s like they can smell the hick on him; he lives in a trailer, not a barn, come on people.

His assistance is not entirely charitable however, he’s planning on eating all of the leftover berries when nobody’s looking.

That doesn’t quite work; he ends up chivvied out onto the porch with a mug of berries and a spoon, and his new friends Indigo and Renholder. They talk idly, watching people come and go, of everything but Danny. This whole thing is sliding towards the surreality he had felt in the passenger’s seat of Danny’s Camaro that night. Worlds colliding and everyone pretending that it’s not even real. He feel like he’s holding a cat that doesn’t want to be held; all of these secrets and sitting here with two  _more_ killers. He’s pretending too, he supposes.

And then it’s time for the ceremony. Like the setting, it’s a mix of traditional and casual. Two groupings of chairs keeping Helen’s family and friends separated from Danny’s-. There’s about ten people on Danny’s side, counting himself but not Indigo because Indigo is nowhere to be seen. None of them look like they’re related, none of them are acting like they know each other. Is what they all have in common, besides hooking up with Danny, a body count?

He hopes not, for his own sake. Danny is- was a professional, and John is just a fuckup.

Because dear  _god_ , no matter how nicely Renholder is dressed now, nobody would buy that she or Indigo or Danny were accountants. Not from Renholder and her tattooed fingers, not from Indigo and his perfect smile, not from Danny and his stoicism and rough voice. Where did they get that story?

There are other traditional things; Helen being walked down the aisle by her father, and Danny by a man older than him who seems to bear no blood relation. Talking, vows, a kiss.

Danny's got something, John thinks, not just her but something so much larger. And he looks across the small group and over to the family and wonders, what do they know? What secrets are they holding? What does he say when an aunt asks him how he knows Danny? Because he's pretty sure that saying he hooked up with the shiny new husband three years ago isn't the right answer. Too much information, opens up too many questions.

What the hell.

Helen is a bright splash of color amid all the white decorations; she’s in a spring dress scrawled with a huge yellow floral pattern. Radiantly beautiful in her moment, sunlight against Danny’s black and white. He’s dressed casually too; sleeves rolled to his elbows and black trousers. No tie.  _Informal_ .

Danny is so gentle when he kisses her, like there’s no audience and this is a promise.

John aches with a deeply buried longing. To have loved and lost, they say, but it was all him. He’s just a fuckup, but maybe he could try again.

Just not with a crazy eyed “accountant” who very clearly belongs to someone else. He’s not _that_ stupid.

There’s a party after. Mingle on the lawn, get pizza from the hired pizza truck, drinks. John wishes- many things, none of which really matter.

He’s accosted after he’s gotten his fancy personal pizza from the truck and before he’s bitten into it. It might have saved him a burned mouth but he’s not grateful. Because what does he say to Helen? There’s no protocol for this, not that he’d know it if there was.

“You must be John. He’s told me about you.” Helen smiles.

“Oh.” He manages. “Good things I hope.”

“Of course, you’ve done more for us than can really be explained.”

“I- didn’t do anything.” He did her husband, are they talking about this in front of  _aunts?_

“Everyone here did something to make this happen, regardless of they know it.” Helen smiles again.

Oh, they’re not talking about that. Okay. He glances over at Danny, who nods slightly. He doesn’t seem less stoic now than when John knew him, and there feels like there’s something jittery about him. He’s too alert. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Congratulations.” He offers, feeling disjointed as Helen sails away with Danny on her arm. He’s hopeful for them.

His pizza is slightly too cooled now, but he doesn’t mind enough to get it reheated. He posts himself at one of the park bench styled tables and digs in for some people watching.

There’s not a lot of mingling between the two groups, which is probably a good thing. Although Indigo is floating about like a goddamn fairy. His coy act must be charming as hell, too. So he watching Indigo for a while; he’s dressed like a glam cowboy, kinda, jeans that make his ass look good and his legs seem coltishly long, and a western styled shirt that even has a fringe on the back with glitter in it. There being no dress code other than ‘nice’ has certainly been a gift.

Indigo catches him looking after a while and comes over to sit across from him. John sticks a foot in between Indigo’s. “Cute.”

“That was a good ceremony, wasn’t it?”

“You weren’t there.”

Indigo winks. “I was, you just didn’t see me.”

“You’re hard to miss.”

“Aw, come on now.” Indigo kicks at his foot petulantly.

“Yeah. It’s good.” John says slowly. “Weird to be at the wedding of a guy I picked up at a bar and who later broke into my house.”

Indigo laughs. “He’s got something none of us have.”

John is tempted to snark, _a wife?_ but Indigo’s wistful tone stops him. “What?”

“An out.”

John doesn’t know what to say to that, so he nods. “You could.”

“Do you know how much money he has?” Indigo hisses. “My entire life is round off error to his.”

“Oh.” 

“Yours too, probably.” Indigo straightens up, entire demeanor changing. “Wanna hook up again?”

“Yeah, but no, you’re acting weird.” John can tell when he’s being used and while he’s not necessarily opposed to it, he’s still gonna complain.

“Are my jeans not tight enough?”

“Your jeans make me want to slide a hand in between your legs and see if you can rut off in my hand with my fingers in your hole, but-" Indigo is making a wheezy distressed sound at him and he breaks off in amusement.  


“Oh, fuck you, that’s no fair .” Indigo complains.  


John smirks. "Try again later."  



End file.
